


Jeeves and the Spade of Spode

by Mice



Series: The Spade of Spode [1]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: M/M, Spodeage, Violence, freaked!Jeeves, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt -- First-time featuring protective! or possessive!Jeeeves, and/or H/C. Basically, anything where Jeeves loses his cool.</p><p>Bertie's tale</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Spade of Spode

**Author's Note:**

> For the IndeedSir gift exchange 2010. Insta-beta by the awe-inspiring random_nexus.

I will admit that I never thought being pursued by Spode with a spade would make such a drastic change in my life. What started the whole mess doesn't really matter now, though Stiffy Byng was involved, as one might suspect when one is biffing about Totleigh Towers of a fine early autumn day.

Spode had grasped me firmly by the tie and popped me a good one in the face before I wriggled away and made a mad dash for the house. We'd been out at a gazebo -- swan-free, mind you -- when he exploded. I hadn't intended to be anywhere near him, much less alone near him, at any point during my visit. He'd actually come looking for me, bearing malice aforethought and a face as red as a baboon's fundament. It wasn't a good look on him, but then nothing really is.

Mention of Eulalie failed to produce the desired results, as he'd sold the bally place only a week before. It was then that the afore-noted incident of tie grabbing with facial rearrangement took place. Spode was more furious than I'd ever seen him, and I have seen him in several assorted grades of apoplectic fervor on many an occasion, most notably the time I ended up in Madeline Bassett's lap with one unfortunate hand in her bosom after having tumbled over a railing while descending the Totleigh Towers grand stairway. No, Spode had never been more of a gorilla in his life. There was murder in the Spodean e.s and I was quite certain he was breathing fire as well.

I've always been good on the sprint, a veritable dasher, and I had a good half-dozen yards on the chump, haring through the kitchen gardens as I made for a sturdy, lockable door to put between us, when that plague of an Aberdeen terrier, Bartholomew, got in amongst my ankles and left me face first in the cabbage, his teeth latched about said a., growling and generally being more savage than a dog that size ought. Spode thundered up like a herd of woolly mammoths or mastodons, bellowing in outrage as I struggled to my feet, generously slathered with Totleigh topsoil, a cabbage leaf or two tucked behind the ear in a jaunty if unintentional fashion.

Spode's bellow resolved into a very clear "I'll kill you, Wooster!" as he snatched up a spade from a nearby gardener. The gardener, quite sensibly, fled for his life. Sadly, I was unable to do so myself due to Bartholomew having taken up residence on my leg, settling in for tea and a bit of Wooster shank to settle his empty tum. There was a great deal of shouting as Spode wound up and let me have it on the side of the head with a sharply wielded gardening implement. I toppled like a wobbly redwood, making an intimate acquaintance with yet another head of cabbage.

My nose had already been bleeding copiously, but being clocked with a spade opened new vistas of blood-letting, and it was a much chastened and exceedingly dizzy Wooster who yelped and rolled out of the way as the spade came down again, this time cleaving the unfortunate head of cabbage upon which I had fetched up quite in half. I allowed a passing thought that it could very well have been my own head and tried to get my legs under me despite the furry anklet I was still wearing.

Spode was much quicker than his massive phys. would suggest, and the spade went up and came down again, ruining my suit and putting a rather nasty gash down my chest. It hurt like the dickens and bled profusely; by that time I was too dizzy and too much in pain to do anything but lie there gasping like an oyster on its shell, awaiting its lemon and tabasco seasoned demise. Jeeves, I supposed, would be very disappointed in my sartorial state when they laid me out, but I surmised he'd be pleased he was finally rid of my canary yellow waistcoat.

It was at that point, Spode's spade rising again for the _coup de_ whatsit, that Jeeves himself made an appearance.

Those familiar with my tales, or with the man himself, will know that my valet is imperturbable. The most expression one ever sees on his dial is a slightly raised eyebrow or the twitch of a lip, signifying volumes. At that moment, however, he was flying down the cabbage row like a champion thoroughbred, shouting "No! Stop!" with panic on his face and nary a 'sir' nor a 'my lord' in sight, gardeners and other sundry household staff in his wake. In any creature of sense, seeing Jeeves in such a state would have sent up alarm flares to rival a good Bonfire Night display, but Spode was remarkably single-minded in his intent to commit mayhem and murder upon the Wooster corpus, and he ignored the impending Jeevesian storm.

I was, in truth, convinced that Jeeves would arrive slightly too late to prevent my being split open like a melon by Spode's spade, but he shimmered into existence next to Spode and managed to wrench the offending object from the man's hands. Spode turned on Jeeves in hot fury, whereupon Jeeves laid him out with that same o. o. like a kippered herring next to an egg. A moment later, Jeeves -- or possibly Jeeves and his identical twin -- punted Bartholomew over several rows of cabbages, with perfect form along a spectacular arc that banished the sharp-toothed menace in a cloud of yelps and garden soil.

By that time, everyone else was arriving, though I will admit that I was hard pressed to focus on anything but the identical Jeeveses now kneeling by my side with identical expressions of alarm on identical pale faces. I suppose I must have looked a fright, what with all the blood and dirt and whatnot. "I didn't know you had a twin brother, Jeeves," I mumbled. My ribs hurt too much for me to get any real volume. Everything was spinning in a dashed uncomfortable fashion. Their eyes widened. "Did either of you ever play rugby?"

They looked up at the assembly. "Stop standing there gawping!" he shouted. Well, two sets of lips moved, but I only heard one voice, spiced with a hint of panic. "Someone summon a physician!" A moment later there was a spotless handkerchief pressed to my head, though it didn't stay in that pristine state. I tried to sit up, but the doubled Jeeveses rested a hand on my chest. "Please, sir, don't try to move."

There was a good deal more shouting and shuffling about going on around me, but the only thing that mattered to me was Jeeves's hand on my chest as I closed my eyes. "No, sir," he said, and I could hear the raw emotion in it. "Stay with me. Don't fall asleep -- please, sir." I tried to open my eyes but couldn't, so I moved a hand up to rest over his instead. A few moments later, I was shifted gently over a few inches, and my breakfast made a splashy but exceedingly uncomfortable reappearance. Jeeves's voice kept up a steady stream of something in my ear, though I could only make out the occasional "please" and "wake up" as I was carried along and eventually shifted onto a hard, flat surface.

Prying my eyes open, I discovered that I was staring up at the kitchen ceiling. Not that I'd been in the Totleigh kitchen before, mind you, but the racks of cookware hanging over my head did present a very kitchen-like atmosphere, as did the linen tablecloth in my fist, self spread out on the table like a Christmas goose. Jeeves was still bent over me, a cloth pressed to my head, and an expression of intense relief crossed his face when he saw me looking at him. I still couldn't be certain if there was only one of him or if there was another Jeeves standing next to him. Things in the Wooster onion felt a bit scrambled, and a moment later there was pressure on my chest. "The doctor will be here shortly, sir," Jeeves said. I could see someone standing next to him, leaning into me as the chap held a towel over the bleeding wound on my chest.

"Wh-where's Spode?" I asked, slightly surprised that my lips were cooperating. I wasn't exactly in any condition to be making an escape at the mo.

Jeeves opened his mouth to answer but didn't get a word out, as Sir Watkyn hove into view, shouting, "What is the meaning of all this?"

I could see Jeeves slapping the stuffed frog mask back on, though there was utter fury lurking just beneath and seeping out the cracks near his eyes. "Lord Sidcup has very nearly killed Mr. Wooster," he said. "A physician has been summoned. I believe it would be wise if Mrs. Travers were informed, as well." Aunt Dahlia did live not far away, but Jeeves's words frightened me terribly. He must have thought I had one foot in the grave to be acting like this. I was having a hard time connecting the words, so I just lay there and moaned. I didn't hear Sir Watkyn's response, as everything tightened in my head and went dark.

***

It was midday when I opened my eyes again. I could tell by the bright sunlight filtering into the room. It hurt like the dickens and I made a slightly less than manly sound, wincing as I turned my face away from the window.

"Sir?"

"J-Jeeves." I wasn't entirely sure the voice was mine, but I felt it come out of my mouth.

"Oh, sir." I could hear his relief washing through the room and blinked as he leaned in from the chair where he sat, next to my bed. He looked an absolute wreck. "I shall inform Mrs. Travers that you've awakened at last."

I reached out to him and took his hand, halting him for a moment. I'd never seen a less-kempt Jeeves in my life. While his hair was neatly combed, there were dark circles under his eyes and he had the look about him of a chap who's spent the last couple of nights in the same suit. "What happened?"

His fingers tightened, warm, about my own, and he swallowed, obviously attempting to collect himself. "You were assaulted by Lord Sidcup two days ago, sir," he said. "You are currently at Brinkley Court. Although you had briefly regained consciousness several times in the last two days, this is the first time you have recognized anyone." I thought I detected a suspicious shimmer in the Jeevesian e.

"I say." He lingered for a moment, brushing hair from my eyes with a gentle touch. Although I had a blinding headache, the brush of his fingers was soothing and I sighed at the sensation. "Please, don't leave."

"Mrs. Travers wished to be informed the moment you awoke," he said, but he hesitated, looking at the door. "Do you remember anything at all, sir?"

"Spode and the gazebo," I said, after a moment's thought. "And something about cabbages."

A relieved expression crossed his dial and he nodded. "Yes, sir. You were hit in the head with a spade as you fled through the kitchen garden." He paused for a moment. "We... we feared the worst while the doctor arrived."

There was a flash of Jeeves in an absolute fury tripping through the old onion. "I remember you there," I said. "You clocked the blighter, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir." His words held a chuffed thingness in them.

I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open, but I wanted to know if he was in trouble. "Are you... you're not up on charges, are you, old thing?"

"No, sir." He shook his head. "Lord Sidcup is currently in custody on charges of assault and attempted murder. Despite his objections, there were enough witnesses to assert conclusively that I was acting solely in your defense when I struck him. I am in no danger. Please, sir, allow me to inform Mrs. Travers that you are awake."

I tried to nod, but that only made my head hurt worse, and my stomach swim. "Right-ho," I muttered. "Send the aged a. on up."

Jeeves shimmered out of the room, though I thought I detected a bit more hesitation in his movement than usual. He had to be exhausted, the way he looked. Only a few moments later, my wrinkled relation arrived. She slipped the e.s up and down the Wooster corpus. "Oh, my young blot," she said, sounding a bit tremulous. She sat on the edge of the bed next to me and took my hand.

"Aunt Dahlia." I hoped I didn't look quite as awful as I sounded.

"How are you feeling, Attila?"

"Well, you know," I said. "We Woosters are made of stern stuff, aged a."

"I don't think I've ever been so relieved to hear your foolish nattering, my young blister." There was a hint of sniffle in her voice, matched by a suspicious glint on her cheek.

"Really," I said, "was it as bad as all that?" I let my eyes slip closed.

"Bertie?" I opened my eyes at the edge of panic I heard.

"My head hurts," I told her. "The light's too bright."

She reached over and rang a bell. Jeeves materialized next to us, worry barely-concealed on his face. "Madam?"

"Please close the curtains, Jeeves. The light is bothering him." He was at the window sliding them shut before she finished speaking and then stood there with his hands folded behind his back. "Is that better, then?" she asked.

I nodded, but carefully, letting my eyes close again. "So tired," I mumbled. I heard Angela's voice outside the door but had no strength to ask after her.

Aunt Dahlia and Jeeves exchanged a few words before she rose from my bed and said, "Do try to rest, Jeeves. While I appreciate the care you're taking of him, I don't want to have to bung you into a sickbed as well, after all this."

There was a reluctance lurking about Jeeves's words when he spoke. "I shall endeavor to rest, Mrs. Travers." I heard her leave, then the shuffle of the chair as Jeeves moved it closer to the bed. He sat silently and took my hand in his again. A moment later, he pressed it against his lips. I was too exhausted to open my eyes, but I did manage the barest shadow of a smile despite my shock.

***

Every time I woke over the next three days, Jeeves was somewhere near. He helped me with everything I needed to do, from getting up to relieve myself to bunging a bit of Anatole's finest down my throat. The first time I got a look in the mirror, I was appalled. I had two black eyes and there were bandages on my head and my chest. Sixteen stitches over the ribs; thankfully, none of them were broken, though they ached badly. My head had required ten. My ankle was wrapped and had required seven stitches for the bites, as well. It was no wonder everyone was in such a state. I looked half dead, even most of a week later. It was a shaky Bertram who wobbled, limping, back to the bed with Jeeves's arm about him after that discovery.

I never mentioned the whole Jeevesian lips upon the Wooster hand incident, though I thought of it frequently and wondered what it all meant. It had happened a few other times when he thought I was sleeping. I could see he was exhausted, though I think he'd managed to get at least a little sleep, and at some point he'd started wearing fresh clothes every day again. I didn't want to think what it had to have taken for him to let himself go so badly.

It was a week after Spode had tried to do me in that Aunt Dahlia's doctor finally said I was well enough go back to the metrop., though I was in no shape to drive, and neither was Jeeves. We got bunged onto a train and one of the footmen drove the Aston back for us with our luggage. Our trip was a quiet one, but I hadn't enough oomph for anything else. I looked out the window, watching Jeeves's reflection in the window as he was watching me. He wore one of the least guarded expressions of worry that I think I'd ever seen on his map, but there was something else in it as well, and I was determined to ask him about it once we were well and truly alone.

By the time we got back to the flat, I'd had all the stuffing taken out of me, and Jeeves looked only a little better. Our whatsits had already been delivered by way of the doorman, Jarvis, and he'd handed the keys to the two seater to Jeeves as we entered, looking more than a bit shocked by our appearance. At least I knew that we'd not be interrupted again for several days.

After Jeeves got me togged out in the heliotrope pyjamas -- I didn't have the wherewithal to sit for a moment longer -- he helped me lie down and slipped the duvet over the Wooster corpus. "Jeeves," I said, "I know you're likely feeling about as wrung out as I am, but would you stay for a few moments? I'd like to talk to you."

"Of course, sir." He perched himself on the edge of the bed and waited expectantly. I could see him wilting like a sensitive plant.

I took his hand. After all the time he'd spent holding it in the last week, this didn't seem to surprise him. "I've been remembering more about what happened in bits and pieces over the last few days," I said, "but I'd like to hear what you saw. Spin for me your account of said events." I hadn't asked him before, and he'd not volunteered the information. I think he had been far too busy fretting over me and making sure I would be all right to worry about such things as setting the scene for the young master.

He nodded, pausing for a moment, and took a breath. "I was in the butler's pantry with Mr. Butterfield," he said, "when Tim Fordyce, one of the gardeners, burst into the kitchen shouting that Lord Sidcup had taken leave of his senses and was pursuing you through the garden. Tim said that the Earl had wrested the spade from his hands and was attacking you, sir, and that he feared the Earl was intent upon murdering you."

"Well, that was true enough," I said, nodding.

Jeeves's brow darkened. "At that point, several of us proceeded quickly through the kitchen and into the garden, where I saw the Earl strike you in the head with the spade and watched you fall." His voice shook slightly as he continued. "I cannot express my relief that you were able to remove yourself from the path of his next strike, sir, for I fear it would have been fatal." His hand tightened about my own and I gave it a bit of a reassuring squeeze in return. "It was with mounting distress that I saw him strike your chest and I shouted in an attempt to distract him, but I do not believe he heard me, for he raised the spade again with dire intent." By then, I could actually feel Jeeves's hand trembling, and he took a short, steadying breath.

"I saw you go for him, old fruit. I must say, I've never been happier to see anyone in my life than I was when you came charging up like a knight on a... well, a charger, I suppose." The Wooster heart was having a bit of a melt at the whole thing. While Jeeves had fished me out of the soup many a time, he'd never engaged in fisticuffs on my behalf before, and it made the old ticker do a bit of a flip, I must say.

"Indeed, sir," he said. "I feared I would be too late, and that... that you would be murdered before my eyes." He swallowed. "It was extremely distressing, sir," he said in a whisper. I hadn't really thought about what he must have been feeling as he dashed to my rescue, but I could see it was hitting the chap hard. "I was not even thinking when I removed the spade from his grasp and hit him, sir. My sole concern was for your safety. It was not until Lord Sidcup was dispatched that I realized the dog Bartholomew was savaging your ankle."

I allowed a bit of a smile. "That was an impressive punt, Jeeves," I said. "I've seldom seen one more professional."

One corner of his lip quirked up a degree or two. "Thank you, sir. I will admit, it is an act I have contemplated more than once during my employment with you." I chuckled and the Jeevesian brow lightened slightly. "There was no way to tell how hard you had been hit, sir. There was a great deal of blood and you were not coherent. I was still very much in fear for your life and demanded that a physician be summoned. Miss Devon, one of the kitchen maids, had the presence of mind to bring a tablecloth out upon which we could transport you safely into the kitchen, and we laid you on the table to await the doctor's arrival."

"I remember you didn't want me to fall asleep," I said.

He shook his head. "No, sir. Head injuries resulting in unconsciousness can be extremely serious. When you lost consciousness, I feared you would not regain it." The memory was obviously still quite fresh and more than a little painful, and he'd started trembling again, this time more than just his hand. "After the doctor examined you, Mrs. Travers had you taken to Brinkley, sir, but for the next two days you recognized no one when you awakened, nor did you remember anything of how you had been injured. You were unable even to complete a sentence until late in the second day. We feared that the damage might be permanent." He gave a pronounced shiver at that. "I cannot express to you, sir, how relieved I was when you opened your eyes and called me by name."

With all that emotion throbbing in Jeeves's quiet voice, I felt the time had come to ask about the rest of it. I had my suspicions, of course, for we'd been closer than master and man tend to be for quite some time, but I'd never really dared to approach the subj. for fear of his leaving. "There were a few times, Jeeves, when you thought I was asleep, that I felt the application of lips to my hand." I looked at him for a moment and he paled. "I just wanted you to know I found it a comfort when I dashed well needed one. I wondered, though, what you'd meant by it." I let a little of the nervous hope I felt sound in my voice.

Jeeves looked at me for a moment that seemed to stretch into bally eternity, until something shifted in his eyes. He leaned down, very slowly, and pressed his lips gently to my own. They were warmer and softer than I'd imagined, and I sighed into it, tugging on his hand and encouraging him to move closer. He tilted and shifted his weight, his mouth not leaving mine, until he was lying next to me with an arm about my waist. "Oh, sir," he whispered, his lips sliding against my lips in a very moist, chummy fashion.

I wrapped my arms around him, opening my mouth when his tongue handed over its calling card, and he held me against him. "Don't let go," I panted, when I had a fraction of an inch to speak into again.

"Never, sir," he murmured, and kissed me again. He caressed the y. m.'s damask cheek tenderly. "May I stay with you tonight, sir?" he asked, his half-open eyes gazing into my own.

I nodded. "Every night, if you like," I whispered. This resulted in a very satisfying embrace and a very pleased sound from Jeeves. "I'm too knackered to do anything more than sleep right now," I told him. "I am sorry about that, old thing."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "There will be sufficient time when we are both rested."

"Right-ho. Tomorrow, then?"

"That is my hope," he answered, offering me a smile that touched far more than the edge of his mouth.

***

I hadn't ever slept an entire night beside anyone before. Not as an adult, anyway. One does tend to bung toddlers into the same bed just to keep them under observation so none of them will escape, but it's nothing like the same thing. I woke at intervals, finding Jeeves still beside me, curled around me in a very possessive manner. It felt jolly good, I must say. I don't think I'd ever felt more wanted before, or safer.

Late that night, or perhaps earlyish in the morning, I watched him wake, our various limbs tangled deliciously into knots. I offered an application of the Wooster lips to the Jeevesian dial and he made a soft humming sound, pursuing my lips with his own. I wanted him quite desperately and threw myself into kissing him with utter abandon despite my continuing headache. It wasn't long before we were both _sans_ outer crust, the firm warmth of his body against my own as we moved gently together.

We didn't speak for a long time. It was all hands touching, fingers stroking, lips and tongue and teeth on skin like a couple of warm, dry eels, writhing about. Neither of us said anything, but kisses and glances and quiet moans offered up all the information a chap could possibly want. The press of his well-slicked fingers into my body dragged a desperate moan from me and I wrapped my legs about him, wanting more. His e.s asked and mine gave a cheery what-ho before I snogged the breath out of him.

Jeeves got himself up on one elbow after a moment, breathless, as he took himself in hand and pressed the not-inconsiderable little Jeeves into me. I can't even describe how utterly delish it felt, and he groaned as he lowered himself onto me, his breath coming deep and quick as he rested for a moment. "So good, love," I gasped, trying to pull him further into my body by sheer force of will. He shuddered and thrust his hips sharply, making me bite back a harsh cry of pleasure. Wouldn't do to let the neighbors hear, after all. One doesn't relish surviving a Spode attack only to be bunged into chokey for a couple of years on morals charges.

"Oh, sir, yes!" His hips began rocking, gathering speed and force as he moved. I doubted either of us would last long. "I've wanted you for so long."

"Not sir, not now," I said, panting as I kissed him breathlessly. It was so bally amazing, feeling him move inside me like that. He was long and thick and hard and there was absolutely nothing better than the way he was making my entire body shimmer and hum; it drove the pain away, pushing the headache into a far distant wardrobe, kept company only by utterly drab ties and waistcoats. I hoped I could keep it buried there for a goodish long time and rocked my hips up to meet his thrusts.

"Bertram," he gasped, pounding into me now, "I so nearly lost you."

"I'm here, love, I'm-- _oh_!" A wave of absolute, delirious ecstasy swept through me, completely removing my ability to think or speak or breathe. I shuddered and every muscle in my body went tight as I came off, with Jeeves still moving fast and hard between my thighs. It was endless, or at least it felt like that for the longest time. Obviously it ended eventually or I'd still be there -- not that it would be a bad thing at all, mind you, but it would put rather a crimp in my social schedule. Regardless, I was drowning in a wave of pleasure deeper than anything I'd known, and Jeeves followed me into that brilliant abyss, choking out my name as he let go with everything he had.

By the time I could feel anything at all again beyond that blaze of delight, my head was pounding and Jeeves was collapsed atop me, holding me with trembling arms. It took a few minutes for me to be able to move at all, but I made the effort to raise a hand and run my fingers through his thick, black hair. "Th-that was... bally amazing," I panted.

His cheek was pressed to my own and I felt something warm and wet trickle down my temple. There was a quiet sniffle. "I love you," Jeeves whispered.

I tilted my head and took his face between my hands. Drawing his eyes to mine, I said, "I know, old thing. I know."

Smiling, if a bit damp of cheek, he kissed me.

~~fin~~


End file.
